


fleeting moments

by hecleretical



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Missing Scene, asterius is secretly a big softy, i care these big dorks so much, patroclus just wants them to kiss already
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:23:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22600153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hecleretical/pseuds/hecleretical
Summary: maybe i’m into men who aid me in deadly combat, zag thinks, and then spends the rest of the escape wondering why he thought that.or, prince zagreus learns to see something more in one of the people standing in his way to the surface.
Relationships: Asterius | The Minotaur/Zagreus
Comments: 7
Kudos: 128
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	fleeting moments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indefensibleselfindulgence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indefensibleselfindulgence/gifts).



He’s being too careless when it happens. The Pact is catching up to him; Wretches move faster, Bloodless hit harder, fountains somehow don’t feel as refreshing. ‘Lernie’, as he’d taken to calling it in an effort to keep himself cheerful….Lernie was rough. He’d died twice there. Very nearly died to that blasted teleporting Soul-Catcher, and the swarms of exalted dead in its chamber.

So he’s doing poorly. Cornered by one Longspear too many, the fatigue is starting to set in, and the visibly armored Greatshield closing on him isn’t going to help matters. Dodge a spear thrust, get hit by another coming in from behind. A sting of pain Achilles’ bracer does nothing to lessen.

Zag darts between two heroes, slashes out wildly with Stygius. It buys him enough space to throw a few bloodstones, then slam the point of his blade into the ground. Those eyeball-cores go flying everywhere. He’s cleared some ground. And maybe he’s just a little too eager to get to one of them, headed towards one of the shields scattered over the grass--

Glass cracks in his ears as the blow hits. He barely has time to process the whirling shield before he’s on the ground-- the world flashes several bright colors-- Greatshield standing over him, blood and darkness this is it--

…

The Greatshield blinks. Then staggers. And then collapses under an overpowering blow to the back of its head.

Zag barely catches a flash of it, almost an afterimage of the colossal ax embedded in its skull as it blinks into a core. Two clean swipes send it back to the depths. The rest of the exalted dead have scattered. Still on the ground, Zag can only crane his head back as his vision clears and the towering double-ax-wielding figure turns into--

“Asterius, mate,” he croaks. “What are you doing here.”

The Bull hefts his ax up onto his shoulder again. Almost nonchalant, like saving Zag wasn’t enough to break a sweat.

He snorts. “You needed a hand.”

And before Zag can decide if that was _amusement_ in his voice he stomps off gracelessly as ever towards the chamber door. The rounded bronze slides down to let him pass.

Maybe I’m into men who aid me in deadly combat, Zag thinks, and then spends the rest of the escape wondering why he thought that.

He doesn’t mention it to Patroclus, who mercifully is in the very next room, or have time for it in the fountain chamber where he catches his breath. Of course having seen the sinister butterfly ball he doesn’t see Asterius alone-- for some reason he only ever runs into one of them-- only in the stadium with Theseus. Of course that’s no place to talk, not in front of that loudmouth. The only words Asterius says to him are “well fought,” as he falls; and that leaves Zag more confused than ever.

It’s still in his head as he shakes blood out of his hair from the Pool of Styx. Next time I see him, Zag tells himself. I’ll ask him why he did that.

‘Next time’ isn’t for a dozen escapes.

He turns the heat up, and Lernie kills him. Then it seems every trip through Elysium he manages to either face the Soul-Catcher or avoid both of them altogether: through Patroclus’s chamber, past a fountain, for a boon from a specific Olympian, by going through Master Chaos’s realm. He could bring it up in the arena, but….somehow it doesn’t feel right to mention it in front of Theseus. Doubtless he would shout and carry on about honor and besmirched honor and hellspawn and call everyone involved a pustule. Better to keep it their secret. But it does mean that by the time he enters Patroclus’s chamber that he’s mostly forgotten.

He isn’t mumbling to himself as Zag comes in. That’s somehow how it is, when he’s caught too deep in memory, so he doesn’t think anything of it at first. What’s alarming is the voice he hears two steps into the chamber: a deep, rumbling voice.

Blood and darkness, he thinks, preparing for a fight. What’s he doing here? He barely has time to duck behind a statue before-- did Patroclus just _chuckle_? That’s not-- that can’t be right, can he do that?

“They’re the worst,” he says. He sounds as amused as Zag’s ever heard him, like he’s holding back more laughter.

Asterius’s voice is almost too low to hear from across the chamber. “I could never have to speak to a Brightsword again.”

“That would still be too soon.”

“I’m exalted, aaaaaaaaaagghhh.” He doesn’t quite pitch his voice up to do the impression, but his tone changes and he draws out the words. Zag chokes down an unexpected snort. “Look, I’m an eyeball and all I do is fight.”

Patroclus wheezes. “Hah! It’s funny because that’s really all you do.”

“That….”

“Well. How careless of me, I suppose. You do come to visit me, which is more than most of the exalted dead can say. At least for some reason other than to nag me into a glorious test of arms.”

“I would be a fool to expect you to be something you are not,” he says. “I enjoy your company.”

Patroclus sighs. “You mean you feel pity for a gloomy old shade.”

“Or it’s you who pity me.” The matter-of-fact way he says it-- Zag can’t help but wince. “The lumbering, misplaced Bull of Minos.”

“You are much less misplaced than I,” Patroclus huffs, “you belong here. You’re one of the Champions of Elysium’s oh-so-mighty Stadium.”

“I was meant for this place no more than you. I won’t pity you. Or let you pity yourself.”

He sighs again. “Oh, I suppose you think you’re right, don’t you. Young people.”

“I do.” Asterius snorts. “And I am older than you.”

There couldn’t be a harm to sitting down. He certainly can’t move until Asterius is gone. They go back to talking, low voices a soothing murmur from across the clearing; and as carefully as he can Zag makes himself comfortable in his little spot. Elysium really can be peaceful. The grass is soft, and if he’s still enough a pale blue butterfly will settle on his nose.

Somewhere, Lord Hermes is bemoaning the added minutes and seconds between him and the surface. He couldn’t care less. His father’s blasted Deadline isn’t here, and if he’s not quite sure how much time has passed before the Bull stomps off, it really…...it doesn’t matter.

Patroclus almost seems in good spirits when Zag emerges, trying to look like he’d just entered the chamber. It takes every ounce of restraint not to ask-- of all the people to be friends with in Elysium-- but he can’t admit he was eavesdropping, can he.

“What’s gotten into you, stranger?” Patroclus asks finally. “You seem distracted.”

“Hm? What? No, I-- just thinking about something, that’s all.”

He takes the offered Hydralite and hurries forward.

In three chambers they finally do catch up. Funny how hard it can be to run into the only eight foot tall bull-headed man in Elysium. But it’s good to see him, it’s surprisingly good to see him. They haven’t sparred in a while.

“Short one. You’ve arrived.”

“And you’re looking smashing as ever, Asterius mate.” Why did he say that.

“I thought it was the armor that looked smashing,” he says. “I’m not wearing it.”

“You. Uh.” Blood and darkness. “I mean you always. Uh.” He’s getting uncomfortably warm; he can feel it in his ears and the back of his neck. “Look, can we fight now?”

“Certainly. I haven’t smashed anyone-- ah, anything yet.” Was that a slip? Gods forbid, was it an _innuendo_? Does he look almost embarrassed, or does Zag just not know how to tell?

“Ah-- Anyway,” he stammers.

Asterius shrugs the ax off his shoulder. “Anyway.”

It’s like-- well, actually what he and Meg do is a dance. This is rather more clumsy and involves a lot of chasing and both of them smacking into pillars. But they do know each other’s movements by now-- just as Zag knows when to dash, which way to move as Aster leaps, he knows by now that Zag’s a terrible shot with the Rail, that he hates reloading, that having Athena’s blessing makes him careless. It’s a challenge to fight him, in a way it isn’t with Meg or Than.

And it’s-- well, not fun, it’s never fun to fight for your life, but it feels different than it does with Lernie the Hydra or with his father. Different evan than it is with Theseus and the Arena. Nobody’s here to see Aster smash face first into an ornate phoenix, or Zag dodge one ax-blow just to put himself in the way of another a split second later. Just with the two of them, it’s-- simple, that’s it. It’s simple.

“Nngh, enough. I yield again, short one,” Aster finally says. “Thank you for sparring with me.” He turns to go, and something impulsive takes hold of Zag.

“Aster, wait.”

He pauses, already almost to the chamber door. “.....Aster?”

“I have something for you.” He hadn’t planned on this, but something about the moment feels right. It feels as though he’s supposed to pull out a bottle of nectar from the front of his chiton and hold it out to his wary and bewildered opponent, like it’s just the right time.

He eyes Zag. “That’s for victors, short one. But thank you.”

“No, really, take it. I insist, mate.” Aster hesitates, and it all comes spilling out of him. “You helped me with those exalted shades back there, and I saw you cheer old Patroclus up, and-- I just think you deserve better than you got.”

"And how could I deserve better than Elysium?" There's something in his voice now.

“I-- in life, I mean.” That much he does know about the Bull of Minos. “You deserved better than that, I see that now. And now you’re always stuck with that great showoff Theseus, you know, and I know you’re obligated to him for bringing you here, but I just thought--”

“I see,” he says coolly. “Theseus is my friend. And I don’t need pity.”

Zag blinks. “It’s-- no, mate, I just--”

“Enough.” He turns away, back to the door. “I thought more of you.” And Zag has no time to think of what to say before he’s gone.

Oh, he is an ass. If Aster is half bull, he’s at least half ass. Belatedly he remembers the conversation he’d overheard with Patroclus-- what kind of idiot eavesdrops on an entire conversation about not wanting to be pitied and then manages to say something pitying? That’s not what he _meant_ , but--

But that’s clearly how it sounded. “Brilliant,” Zag mutters.

Asterius doesn’t say a word to him in the Stadium, not even when he dies. He’s conspicuously absent on the next three runs, too-- like he’s avoiding him. He has no trouble finding Patroclus, or the blasted giant Soul-Catcher, or swarms of exalted dead, or Theseus, much as he would like to avoid Theseus. But Asterius never appears except in the Stadium, and there he’s wordless.

“Stranger, you look almost as glum as me,” Patroclus says finally, during one of his visits. “Something’s on your mind lately.”

“I….suppose you could say that, sir.” Why does this bother him so much? He hates to feel anyone upset with him, it hurts like a rag being wrung out in his guts, but why this specifically, with him? Why does it feel so bad to have hurt Asterius, who’s usually so diffident, almost soft…

Patroclus clears his throat noisily and Zag realizes he’s trailed off again.

“Uh, yes.” This has the potential to be embarrassing, but he’s no stranger to making a fool of himself, and Patroclus is-- well, maybe liable to laugh. It’s been eating at him, though. “I’ve been wondering something, sir,” he says. “I think I need advice.”

“You’re interested in my advice.”

“I am,” he says, and means it. “You’re one of the most thoughtful people I know. And discrete.”

Patroclus raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't sound displeased. "I'm flattered. What's troubling you?"

"Let's say there was someone you knew. Someone you'd clashed with before." Zag hesitates, chews his lip-- an old habit his father's always hated. "Maybe someone you'd met in combat, since this is Elysium."

"That is generally what people do in Elysium."

Zag shifts from foot to foot. "And at first you just saw this person as an opponent in combat. As an obstacle. But let's say you......saw them someplace you wouldn't expect. Several times maybe; and you realized you'd been unfair in your first impression. That you realized they were-- someone you'd like to get to know better."

"Mm. And?"

"Well, it's....you've only really fought this person in hand to hand combat before now, mostly. You find yourself thinking about them, but maybe they don't feel the same way." He sees the shift in Aster's posture again, the way his face had changed, and almost winces. "And you think when you tried to bring it up it came off the wrong way," he says unhappily. "That maybe they were offended. How do you approach them again after that?"

Patroclus sighs. "I think you should go talk to Asterius, and kiss or whatever, and both of you let me have some peace and quiet."

All he can do is sputter. "What-- I never said."

"Ah," Patroclus says, "but _he_ was in my chamber five minutes ago saying all the same things."

His mouth must be flopping open like a charp, because Patroclus says mildly, "I think you should talk to Asterius."

"...But he's upset with me."

"I think you should apologize, then talk to Asterius." Zag is still reeling. It obviously shows on his face, because his expression softens, and gains a touch of melancholy to it. "If you were mortal, and I were alive, this is where I would tell you that life is too short for this. Not that that matters, here, but wouldn't you rather find out either way? If I...."

He trails off. "Go find him, then. And leave me for a while."

Suddenly he's aware of how much time he's spent here. "You said five minutes, sir?"

"Mm," Patroclus mumbles, and Zag leaves him to his thoughts.

Two chambers on Asterius sits on the edge of a fountain, waiting for him.

There's a pomegranate in his massive hands, delicate in comparison, blood-red against almost purple hair and skin. Is it fur or hair, Zag suddenly wonders. He doesn't know what it'd feel like.

"Short one," Aster says.

His mouth is suddenly dry. "Hello."

There's an awkward silence. Asterius peels back the rind of the pomegranate with his fingers; with a surprising strength and delicacy he splits it evenly into two halves. It doesn't look as though he's crushed a seed.

"Do you want this?" he asks.

Zag steps towards him, then again. He's close enough that he can see Aster's ears flick, but he doesn't move. Slowly, Zag pulls out the bottle of nectar from the front of his chiton, and just as slowly he reaches over to place it on the edge of the fountain. Still not a movement. Then, carefully, when he's sure Aster won't-- what, clobber him? Run away? Change his mind?-- he sits down himself, keeping the bottle between them.

"I would," he says. The moment has him afraid to speak too loud. "Thank you."

They sit in silence again like that for a moment. The air in Elysium always feels so lush, and by the fountain it's rich with the smell and sound of running water, moist and heavy. A wind ruffles through the branches above them, casts dappled light and shadow across the grass.

"I am sorry," Aster says finally. "Words are not my strong suit. I do not know how I should have reacted."

"Really, Asterius, mate, it's me who should be sorry. I sounded like an entire ass back there. I didn't mean to patronize you."

He snorts quietly. "What did you mean to do?"

Zagreus dares to turn his head, look at something other than the grass scorching softly between his toes. Their eyes meet. Aster's really are just like a cow's, big and dark. With an intelligence to them, though, and a glimmer of something that gives him hope.

"Listen, I'm not....I haven't always been good at making friends.”

"Neither have I. I lived and breathed within a labyrinth."

"I lived and breathed within my father's house," he says honestly. "It wasn't what you'd call a healthy place."

Aster tilts his great head. He's so big, Zag realizes suddenly, warm in the pit of his stomach. "I suppose we are more alike than I thought, short one."

"Do you have to still call me short one?"

"Does it bother you?" he asks, surprised. "I don't mind that you're short." Zag's about to open his mouth when he admits, "I find it endearing."

His skin and fur are too dark to blush, but he glances away, and Zag can blush enough for the two of them. "I-- suppose I don't mind," he says. "When you put it like that.”

“I do not mind if you mind. I don’t mean to offend you.”

“You weren’t offended when I called you Aster, were you?” he asks.

“I think my sister used to call me that,” he says quietly. “The princess Ariadne.”

He truly doesn’t know what to say to that. Zag’s starting to suspect that long silences are going to be a feature of this friendship. Well, if he can get by with Than, surely he can here.

“I like it,” Aster says. “I don’t mind.” He turns to face Zag again, and holds out half of the pomegranate. Their fingers brush as he takes it.

Could we share, he wants to ask. His mouth is really too dry, almost sticky. Their hands are rough together, callous against callous; everything so impossibly big and rough about Asterius only serves to mark how soft he can apparently be.

His hand lingers on the nectar bottle. “Can we start again?” he asks.

Aster considers for a long moment. “We can,” he decides. “We can.”

“Good. Aster, mate, thank you for always keeping me on my toes out here. And for being a good man while you do it. I….I truly enjoy sparring with you, and I’d like it if we talk more.”

“And you’re giving me this.”

He swallows. “And I’m giving you this.”

“I accept.” And then, quietly: “Would you like to share?

Hermes must again be wondering what’s keeping him. Sooner or later they’ll have to go on, have to part ways and fight each other on the threshold to the surface. Like with Meg, like with Than, every person he grows close to is tied up in this somehow. It’s a little forward to think of it like that already, but maybe, just maybe, Zag thinks, it isn’t entirely unexpected. Or entirely futile. He can snatch a few fleeting moments in eternal paradise, simple, on his way to the surface, and for once there will be something more to this place for him than fighting.

The nectar is sweet, and the air is rich and wet, and they linger like that for quite a while.


End file.
